Morlaix's unique style

9 Grand'Rue

I am currently writing about Morlaix in the context of roads and pathways for my new book, which has reminded me of all kinds of negatives about this beautiful historical town, so here let's focus on something more alluring. The town has a unique architectural form, the maison pondalez, narrow, half-timbered, high-storeyed houses, offering an unparalleled glimpse into the 16th century life of the city. Often likened to lantern houses, they did not in fact originally have roof level light-sources, with windows serving both front and back rooms alone. The great central well, rising the full height of the house, had a monumental fireplace and would have been lit with sconces. The name pondalez is of uncertain derivation, the traditional 'pont' + 'aller' in reference to a single turning staircase with wooden 'bridges' to both sides on each level, is now largely rejected in favour of the nothing in particular. Wood carving is a feature of the exterior with saints and angels dignifying the façade, and the interior where ornate single piece stair-posts rise to an enormous height. The jettied storeys have rooms on each level with small-paned casement windows seemingly only feet away from their opposite neighbours across the tiny cobbled streets of the old walled city, sacked by English raiders in 1522.

Most interesting of all is the raison d'etre of these exceptional buildings. They were the fine residences of nobles turned merchants, officially surrendering the swords that symbolised their status in order to cash in on the highly lucrative cloth trade with England. The quality fabric créées was purchased in the shop-fronts of these Morlaix houses (with a fold-down counter on ground level) and shipped from the river port 200m away. Often younger sons of the Breton petite noblesse had few prospects in terms of family inheritance and stood to make fortunes in commerce, but they still wanted the trappings of the manor houses in the narrow confines of a medieval town - hence the narrow frontage and great height of these splendid residences, and the quality of craftsmanship in their construction and decoration.
Two of these houses can be visited today. The so-called House of the Duchess Anne in the market square Place Allende and 9 Grand'Rue. The latter would be my choice as more atmospheric and clearly presented. Just the thing for getting in the spirit of the town and imagining that attack in 1522. A maid in this very street had the measure of the English: she opened a trap-door in the hall and the first few pillagers fell into the cellar and drowned. Their less stupid comrades chased the maid up and up the stairs until she was forced to throw herself from the top window. That piece of anecdotal history takes on quite another dimension when mounting the levels of this maison pondalez.

So-called Maison de la Duchesse Anne

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Ile St Gildas

Ile St Gildas

I spent the weekend on the north coast in Cotes d'Armor for the pardon on the little private island of Saint Gildas, who is one of several Breton saint patrons of horses. The unusual aspect of this event is that the island is only accessible on foot at the lowest tide and that it is only open for public access on this one day a year. A procession of people and horses make their way out from Coz Castel in Bugélès, following the curving line of an old causeway constructed in the days when the islands in this chain were all exploited and regularly inhabited. In places there is no more than a vague track and care is needed all along the slippy sliding path over sand, mud, rocks and seaweed.

I set off before the official start time, leaving crowds gathered on the shore to await tractor transport or to walk along with the horses on their way to a bishop's blessing on the island. Even so there was already a long line of men, women and children picking a precarious route across the strand. Footwear varied from wellingtons and walking boots to open sandals and bare feet. Many old hands carried a shoe-bag with a change for arrival. It was certainly a dirty business and required a degree of concentration that left little time for observing the off-shore scenery. Fortunately the intense heat of Saturday had evaporated and the breeze was fresh once away from the shore and walking where there would normally be sea. One wide channel remained and I waded across up to my knees through the gentle current.

Behind in the distance I could make out the main body of participants on the move. The first horses, a fine pair of chestnut mares, passed me shortly before I reached the causeway up onto the island. Paddocks and paths had been newly mown for the occasion, scenting the air with the summery smell of cut grass. There were already many there but I had the chance to visit the tiny chapel of St Gildas and even smaller oratory of St Roch in their stone enclosure before the crowds arrived. A makeshift altar was set in the open air under a white canopy and lines of chairs awaited the pilgrims for mass.

While they filled up, I wandered about watching the horses, now lining a large fenced area beside the food and drink stalls, and locating the eccentric toilets in a former bread-oven.
After mass the bishop of St Brieuc and Tréguier and his acolytes processed the short distance to the paddock, mounted a special platform and blessed baskets of bread which he then fed to each horse to ensure its good health and good behaviour during the coming year.

There were 75 animals,so I decided to set off back whilst the route was fairly clear and enjoy the journey which was my (work) purpose in coming, able to take it slower on return. There was about an hour left before the tide began to fill the channel, but I met an elderly Breton woman with bright blue eyes and bright yellow wellingtons, making her slow way to the island. She said she was afraid of slipping, but clearly determined to reach the site even though the ceremonies were almost over and tractors lining up to bring the faithful home. Gradually fading snatches of canticles accompanied me on my return.